Speak to me with the words shaped
Long before they’re mangled by a tongue—
Trained, like a lion, to rest its teeth
On the skull
Of a man, dressed as a clown.
Hollowed lungs, resonate the guttural roar of life.
That those teeth
That funny bone.
Women, men, children,
May cry for blood,
But secretly, they’re happy to return home
Without those vicious scenes in their heads.
But, don’t mistake my plea
For blood lust—
I just wish, like those lions,
To set your tongue loose.